


Bona Fide Nights (Being Rewritten - To return at my new account on March 2021!)

by JuniperJoy101



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 1920s, Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mafiatale/Undermafia (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Mobtale (Undertale), Awkward Flirting, Cross-Posted on Quotev, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Reader, Flirting, Hispanic Character, Hispanic Reader, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mafia AU, Mobtale Sans - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Seduction, Segregation, Self-Confident Reader, Singer Reader, Slurs, Speakeasies, Updates Weekly on Wednesdays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperJoy101/pseuds/JuniperJoy101
Summary: It's the not-so roarin' nineteen twenties considering your bleak and overall lowly position in the world. Shifting between jobs as the town librarian and a singer for a speakeasy, while dangerous, doesn't bring much conflict or excitement into your life, most of it spent trying to survive and keeping your family -- mother, father, and sibling -- afloat. Things take a turn when a gun's pointed at your head, your saviour being a large goatman and his helper a skeleton, both who help you live undercover, unnoticed, and underground.If Echo flowers bloom in the Underground, then so can your determination to succeed, helping yourself and others around you.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue: Grumpy Beginnings

"Hands where I can see 'em, lass."

While you do as told, you try to reason with the officer. If he was bluffing, you would try to find your way around it.

"You're that singer everyone's talking about, aren't you? That hair and face fit the description given to us. Better pledge your guilt if you know what's good for ya, 'cuz folks like you don't last long in prison, and I'm betting you already know that yourself."

His comment makes you shake despite all your effort not to display fear. You gulp, keeping your hands up in the air as you chew on the inside of your lip; you close your eyes and breathe in deep, lacking excuses.

"You _are_ , aren't you? Walk out of that counter and face me, then."

"What if I don't wanna? Ain't nothin' bad in being a singer."

"You know it's different at a speakeasy."

Hearing silence, you pop open an eye and later both to see the officer scrutinizing your look, gaze gaining sharpness when he finishes his observation. "Drop your weapon. There's no use fighting me back, lass."

The officer's assertion makes you wonder if he's even human at this point, how well you'd hidden a blade under your dress's skirt making you think over just how he'd found you out. Instead of asking, you try to buy some time, hoping a customer would pass through the doors, the ring of the bell a sound you most wanted to hear at the moment.

"It's a family heirloom -- Can't give it to you, officer."

His laugh makes you realize you've fallen right into a trap. Quickly, he takes action, cocking his gun as he orders you to slip the blade from under your clothes. "Show it to me, lass. Don't wanna touch you unless it's absolutely necessary."

"What a gentleman." You feign allure and swoon, words cooed as you continue to stall for time. "If only you weren't pointing a gun to my head."

"Be a lot easier if you'd just give it up, lass."

"You know I won't, officer."

You close your eyes when you see him lower the gun to your thigh, his intent clearly not to kill you, but to impede you from escaping. With the bang of the bullet sounds the bells of the entrance door, in arriving two monstrous figures, right on par with the feeling of the bullet piercing through your skin.

_"¡Mierda!"_ you curse, hissing as you collapse to the ground, holding the wound spot as your eyes close tighter than before, suppressing the pain.

Sounds of fight and struggle can be heard between the officer and the two strangers, though you can't gather further wit or strength to look at the scene, feeling dizzied by the rush of adrenaline along with the quick loss of blood. You try not to collapse more than you already have, soon aided by two cool, hard hands placing themselves on you, sensations you would react defensively to weren't you weakened by the shot.

"Hold on tight, miss," the person says, hooking his arms around your waist -- avoiding the wound. "Gonna take ya somewhere safe 'fore ya keep losin' more blood."

Upon closer inspection, his voice sounds familiar, along with the other person present besides the officer. You wonder if they're viewers or customers at the speakeasy you were a part of, though you have no chance and are in no position to question over that. Your questions and curiosities falter at the feeling of the stranger already hiking you up and propping you over his shoulder, one hand placing itself on the back of your head and the other on your butt.

"H- Hey!"

"You're heavy," he comments, chuckling. "Ya ain't lookin' curvy for nothin', miss."

You'd kick him in the gut were you to have any strength left. Instead, you bark back, "It's what the crowd likes."

"I know. I've seen ya out on stage a few times before." He pauses, holding you tight as he rushes off. "Shame they ogle you for that 'stead of how heavenly your singing is, though."

"Why not both?" you ask, playing along with him, his banter helping distract yourself from the growing pain. A smile curves your lips, and you can only hope you're not dragging yourself into more trouble. For now, though, being helped out of the library by two familiar-sounding strangers sounds levels better than being sent to jail as both a woman and a Hispanic, your unidentified saviour's joking nature adding to it.

"Good point," he replies, booming out a low laugh.


	2. Chapter One: So Maybe I'm Not Okay

You roll the numbers until you mark your mother’s, the goatman shielding you from behind regardless of you insisting you were out of danger. With it now being close to midnight though, he seems to have more than enough reasons to stay with you while you manage the call. He takes a step back when your mother picks up, something you respond to with a quick hello and an even quicker explanation, words spilling out of your mouth, “I. . . I won’t be coming home tonight, _mamá_. Please don’t freak out if some guards show up at your door, but I. . . I got found out. They’ll be there to protect you.”

There’s silence behind the other line, giving out warning to what was to come. _“¿Qué te sucede, querida?_ What. . . What happened?”

The cold breeze brings awareness over the fact you’re not wearing a dress any longer, the lower half of it having been ripped off to deal with the repercussions of a fresh bullet wound, thigh numb with inflammatory medicine. To make up for the lack of a skirt, you’re wearing some shorts, how exposed they make you feel causing you to shift in your feet, as if to make the reveal more discreet. “I got found out,” you repeat, voice wavering. “The extra money I made was from. . . from singing at a speakeasy.”

_“¿Qué?”_

You close your eyes and flinch at the raise in her tone, frustrated. “I never gave that place my real information, so it should be safer for you and the house. But in case anyone decides to reel you, _papá_ , or my sister into all this, those guards should help you out.”

“ _Pero, ¡querida!_ Why would you-“ She interrupts herself with a gasp, her shock drowned out by the sound of two new voices, one introducing herself as Undyne and the other as Papyrus, both who inform your mother over their duty to protect her household until further notice. “They are here,” she says, letting out a huff. “I do not know what is going on exactly, but you should have never risked yourself like this, (Y/N) (L/N). We. . . We would have found another way to make money had I known you would be working in such a place.”

_“Mamá-“_

_“Suficiente por hoy.”_ She cuts you off, tears being heard in her voice. “I hope you are somewhere safe now. Call me tomorrow, _¿okey, mija?_ I. . . I need a moment to process all this.”

_“Mhm,”_ you say, nodding. _“Te quiero, mamá.”_

She sighs. _“Yo también, hija.”_

You wait for your mother to hang up first and shudder when the wind picks up, sticking to your legs, these left bare. Between a ripped dress, runny makeup, and hunger gnawing at your stomach, it’s safe to say you’re a mess currently. The showdown with the officer and your escape had taken place almost seven hours ago, enough for your usual shift to have ended long by now and for the clock to strike midnight. You'd skipped breakfast and lunch, and now dinner, too. Today -- or better said, _yesterday_ \-- had been a more-than chaotic day, and in more ways than one. All you wanted presently was a shower and a meal; sleep didn’t sound bad, either.

“Keep warm.” Not long after those words do you feel something heavy lay on your shoulders, big enough to cover you up all the way down to your heels. Looking towards the voice, the goatman stands, his suit jacket now gone and draped over your body. “Sans will take you someplace safe to get you freshened up. Miss Alphys should also be accompanying you if you are cautious over having a man alone with you.”

“Oh, _please,”_ you say, smiling. “You two are _way_ more of a gentleman than most of my audience. That, and you haven’t brought to my attention me speaking another language back there.” Pausing, you look at the goatman and then at the skeleton, smile growing. “But thank you, sir -- I appreciate that.” You hug the jacket closer to your body and walk towards the other monster, how much more shorter he looks now only leading you to make assumptions over how he'd carried you so easily out of the fight. Your attention moves back to the goatman, who can be seen making a phone call himself. “What’s he gonna do, mister?” Your words are directed at Sans, who seems distracted by your appearance. “. . .Mister?"

He reacts the second time, leading you to grin and nudge his shoulder. “Falling guilty over what you said back at the library, huh? Never seen a lady in shorts before?”

Surprisingly, the monster takes your words more seriously than you intended them to be. He shakes his head, a sharp look glinting in his irises. “Not really,” he answers. “Undyne trains in clothes like that all the time, and a bunch more other women I know, too. I’m just more, uh. . . concerned over your wound.”

You gaze down at that comment, seeing the bandages he’d wrapped tight around your thigh, these stained red from end-to-end, with not a hint or a trace of its original colour left. “Oh,” you mutter, reaching out for the wound. He stops you just as you’re about to touch it, hand letting go as he voices an apology. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do that, miss -- You could make it worse.” He stares you down, embarrassment appearing to take him over the longer he stays that way. “You okay with me carryin’ you back to the car again? We’re not too far from Alphys’s place.”

“Well, I sure am feeling spoiled.” You let your amusement show more this time, hoping to let know you were joking around more clearly this time. “Sure, mister. If it helps, then c’mere.” You stretch your hands out as a bigger, brighter grin shows on your face, full-toothed and merry, how hectic yesterday had been urging you to find cheer in other ways. Even more surprising’s to see him hug his arms around you, the embrace disorientating you until you’re back to being carried in his arms, hand avoiding your butt at all costs now. “Thank you.”

He tenses up with your most recent words, hold growing stronger on you. “Don’t mention it.”

“You’re that monster who always stopped around for some science books and whatnot, aren’t you? Thought you were just an audience to my singing earlier ago, but I recognize your face more than I thought.”

“Hit the nail in the head, miss. Guessin’ you also know who _he_ is, then?”

Sans points with his chin towards the goatman, a bit more restricted in his movements due to having you in his hold, now carried on his back, hands holding onto both your legs to keep you up. “That’s Asgore, ain’t it? He sure is hard to miss with how big and fluffy he looks.” You perk up at the sound of him chuckling, your attempt at small talk to ease the situation seeming to work out. “Is miss Alphys, by any chance, that lady I once saw with a fishwoman? She was a nervous mess when she came back around to ask if I had any queer literature available.”

“She’s always been that way,” he answers, letting out another laugh. “But I’m guessin’ more than usual, then?”

“Yes,” you reply, nodding. “Her stutter was much more present that day compared to when she looked over the same category as you.”

You notice you’ve lost track of time and your surroundings when you’re set back down on the backseat of the car. Asgore’s done with his call, already sitting by the driver’s seat, a new face accompanying him in the one set next to him. 

“Hi there, lass,” an elderly turtle says, turning to your side and greeting you with a smile. “Start packin’ up yer belongings if ya haven’t already, ‘cuz I’ll be takin’ it from here as soon as Fluffybuns makes a stop.”

You try not to smile at that nickname, failing when the turtle gives you a knowing look, as if to tease you over having called Asgore ‘big and fluffy’ not too long ago. “I really ain’t got much to my name, sir,” you reply, eyes trailing off to your grandfather’s dagger. “But I _do_ got a blade -- That one over there, if I’m not wrong.”

The elder nods, a grimmer look crossing his gaze as he turns his back to you for a moment, retrieving the blade from your belongings left aside: the torn skirt, a stained towel with a bullet, and a pair of equally bloodied pantyhose the only other items left aside from the dagger. He gives it back to you, keeping his hand on yours as he voices his thoughts before letting go, “Keep it safe. We’ll teach you how to survive with and without it soon enough, lass.”

You nod back and hold the dagger tight, his words enough of a warning for you to understand what was soon to come, and all this simply from having chosen to work at a speakeasy. Clearly, your mother was right about taking those risks.


	3. Chapter Two: Coffee Times Ten

You wake up with a headache and a hellish pain to your wounded leg, both impeding you from getting out of bed. Kicking the bedsheets off of you, you realize you’ve yet to be wearing any decent attire, now wearing a tank top along with another pair of shorts, no underwear available. As a replacement, you have one of Alphys’s lab coats on, noticeably one of her newest with how blindingly white the fabric is. The reminder you’d wandered around the house in such an attire sends heat to your cheeks, your mother’s traditions sticking to you like a wad of gum. According to her, that was an attire you would only get to wear after marriage. To think two people had seen you like this in just one day makes a tinge of guilt show on your thoughts, how flirty and outright daring some of the melodies you sang for strangers only adding to that factor.

“C- Coffee or tea?”

Thankful to have a distraction, you look towards the door of the bedroom to see Alphys stand by, polka-dot pajamas replacing her lab coat from when first meeting her here. She has two cups in her hand, one larger than the other, the string of a tea bag poking out from the smaller container. “Coffee, please,” you say, your growing headache influencing that decision. While you make aim to stand up and take the serving from her hand, she hushes you back into bed and walks over to your side, placing the cup in your hands. “Thank you.”

The lizardwoman sits next to you in bed, cup of tea left in her hold. “I. . . I’m not sure how true this is or not, b- but yours has milk. M- Made it that way since I’ve had other people like you tell me they drink it that way.”

Her way of saying ‘people like you’ is far more pleasant to the ear compared to other people saying it. Most often, that phrase was used as an insult. From her, it sounds more as if she simply doesn’t know what to call you. You nod at her words and take the cup to your lips, sugar and a smooth texture complimenting the strength of the coffee. “Damn, that’s good.” You burst out a giggle at your own comment, looking down to see most of it gone. “Really helps with how groggy I feel right now.”

“Did they treat you well?” Alphys comments, facing your side. “A- Asgore and Sans, I mean.” She gazes down at her tea, still left untouched. “Believe it or not, t- this wasn’t their original plan, s- so if it feels like. . . like we don’t know what we’re doing, it’s because we really don’t.”

You take another sip off your coffee, quirking an eyebrow to let her know you were listening. “Th- They. . . They were just going to check out books, as usual, b- but then they saw the trouble you were in and called me and my girlfriend for backup.”

_“Girlfriend?”_ While your words are playful, she seems to take them in a whole other way, panic crossing with her as she attempts to cover her slip up. “I’m playing with you, Alphys. _Mamá_ didn’t raise no bigot.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, smiling at her when her eyes meet with yours. “So you finally made things official, huh?”

She huffs out a deep breath, shoulders slumping as she drinks down her tea, disappearing with one full swig. “Well. . . yes,” she replies, facing back down at the cup. “Not l- long after I borrowed _those_ books from the library.”

“Sappho?”

“. . .Y- Yes.”

You giggle and punch her shoulder, looking away from her when you hear a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Alphys says, clearly used to the rhythm of that knock.

In enters Sans, who carries a bunch of bags in his hold, a few patterns and boxes poking out. He places them all at the dresser next to the door, avoiding your gaze when you meet with his. “This should be enough for now,” he explains, facing Alphys instead. “She’s already on the news. Apparently, runnin’ off with a monster after bein' shot didn’t really help make her less wanted.”

“H- How much are they asking for her?”

“‘Bout a week of a rich man’s paycheck or two.”

“Can you _please_ stop talking as if I’m not here? And why are there so many J. C. Penney bags, anyway? You didn’t go off and buy me _that_ much, did you?”

The skeleton approaches your side and sets a newspaper down on your lap, nodding for you to read. You take it and see your face on the front page -- the most flattering one, surprisingly.

_‘Hispanic Activist (Y/N) (L/N) escapes jailtime, aided by what seems to be her partner given where his hands laid on her body at the time of their escape.’_

You skip to the page where it discusses the situation to more detail, heat reaching your cheeks again when you see the image captured, almost pin-up like weren’t your skirt bloodied and you closing your eyes tight. In the picture, Sans has the back of your head tucked against one hand, his other holding your rear as you clutch onto him for dear life. You resting your face right against his neck makes the image a lot more intimate than it actually is.

_‘Why would a good-looking spic choose such a partner? Human fans say she might just be attracted more to monsters than men.’_

“That’s ‘cuz they dunno how to treat a lady, _periódico pendejo_.” You spit a few insults at that last line, more annoyed by it than the word ‘spic’ in itself. You close the newspaper, hand it back to him, and huff, crossing your arms over your chest and heaving out your annoyance through your nose. “How come they haven’t found us out yet? Figured they would with how persistent they are.”

Alphys stands up to look for the bags, leaving you be with Sans, who sits next to you, ready to speak up, “Lucky for aluva us, you’re a dame of a prize to be won in their eyes. I, uh, know this sounds nasty as hell, but a lotta people want their hands on ya now -- more than before.” He folds his hands over his lap and looks down at them, irises dimming when he continues, “Apparently, 'hot foreign singer with a fetish for monsters' is everyone else’s new fetish.” He faces you next, a stern look in his gaze. “Your family’s safe, but you’re, well. . . _not.”_

You see Alphys lay out some dresses for you, each modest enough to make your current outfit feel like being naked. She guides Sans away from the bed and waits for him to turn around for her to take off your lab coat, helping slip on the dress over your head. "W- We, well. . . We didn't know what size you were in underwear, so we didn't buy you any. B- But we'll be going out soon f- for you to buy some."

"How could you afford all this?" you ask, counting the dresses and other garments she takes out. Even accessories and two bottles of perfume are present. "I need to pay you back for all this, 'cuz there's no way I'll be a freeloader while you guys, well. . ." You stop yourself when you grow aware over the fact you were pretty much being taken under what appeared to be a mafia composed of monsters, Asgore you figure's the leader of them all. "You're pretty much protecting me and letting me stay here with you, and all for what? What do I gotta do to pay you guys back?" 

Sans turns around as soon as you're done dressing up, irises faltering when he takes a look at what you're wearing. "We, uh. . . mostly just need you as a source of information. Monsters ain't allowed to read or write, but we're slowly changin' that the more we visit libraries. So far, you've been one of the most helpful people out there, and if there's one thing Asgore likes to keep, it's things and people with value." He stops to sweep a bow from the pile of accessories, handing it to you. "'Sides from all that, you've also got your voice. We ain't gonna ask you for money, 'cuz we know ya ain't got any, but those two things should be more than enough for us to keep a deal between each other." He holds out a hand to you, waiting for you to take it. "We help you and your family stay outta trouble and offer ya a place for you to stay; you help us educate our kind and make resources through your voice. Sound like a deal, miss?"

Seeing the silhouette of something hidden under his glove, you smile, nod, and grab his arm, pulling him close to you. "Mhm," you say, giggling. "Why do we gotta be so formal, though? Let's seal this with a kiss!"

You give him no time to process your words, landing a quick kiss on his cheekbone. He steps back, the embarrassment he appeared to have been holding back since obliged to rip off your dress to heal a wound presenting itself on his irises, clouded as he looks away and harrumphs. "Not what I expected, but it works. Don't. . . do that next time, though."

You nod again, taking a glance at the dresses, perfumes, and accessories before speaking, "Alright, mister." Seeing Alphys tense up at the scene, you can only wonder what could be going through her mind, yet settle yourself with the situation at hand. "Sorry about that, and thank you for all this."

"It's nothin' -- just part of the deal, miss."

"Doesn't mean I can't be grateful for it, _¡cariño!"_

His irises flicker, interest seeming to cross with him. "What's that mean?"

Caught, you freeze and try to come up with something quick, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. "Friend!" you exclaim, punching his shoulder. "We can get along now, can we?"

He grins at your sudden burst and agrees to your statement, amusement present in his gaze. "Sure we can, _cariño."_


	4. Chapter Three: Time to be Serious

"Okay. . ." Undyne mutters, eye narrowed as she takes in your stance: a little shaky and stiff, but with promise. "So you must have at least _some_ experience in combat already, right? Wouldn't have lasted long at that speakeasy if you didn't." You try not to feel small under her gaze when she tells you to hoist up the skirt of your dress, her loyalty to her partner demonstrated by how little reaction she shows at your display. She only focuses on the dagger strapped to your thigh, excusing herself when she goes to touch it. "Have you used this before -- like actually shanked someone with it? It looks well-worn already, but judging by the case it's in, I'm guessing it's pretty sharp."

You look down at the dagger and reach out for it, fingers brushing with it and eyes staring back at her. "I haven't, but my grandfather used it often -- mostly to cut stalks than do any actual fighting, though."

"Alright." The fishwoman instructs you to let go of the skirt, later striking a move all-too sudden for you to avoid it. She directs a hard punch at your shoulder, leaving it sore and for your hand to massage it. "So you don't have any experience in weaponry, and you also only know _basic_ combat." She scrutinizes your attire, a subtle furrow to her gaze. "We're gonna have to work hard on that if you're really up for the job then, (Y/N)."

"Afraid I'll be a damsel in distress?"

"No offense, but yes."

She strikes a kick this time, one you avoid, only to trample on your feet and land butt-first on the floor. You laugh, making her do the same. "Think there's hope for me, miss?"

"'Course there is," she replies, helping you back to your feet. "Everybody's got something they're bad or need practice at. Your talent's poured all into singing, so now you're just gonna need to work more on how to defend yourself." She strikes another punch, one you duck just a tad-too slow, making it hit your ear. "Anybody told you what you're getting yourself into? It's not an easy task."

"They have, though I'm missing a few details, in all honesty."

"You'll learn them with your missions." Undyne turns her back to you and throws a water bottle at you. You catch it, pride showing through a faint smile. "You'll have your first one today to get you started." 

You nod and follow her out of the training room, ducking when she aims a punch at your face, paying back with a high kick. She counters it almost instantly, hand holding tight onto your leg, twisting you around and stopping before you can end up on the floor again. "Need to work on your speed, too. Anyone with bad intentions could've used that to their advantage." You nod again and gulp harsh, the meaning behind her words not needing more context, these already churning your stomach. "You're no shorter than a prize now. Someone gets their hands on you, and you'll be anything but human, (Y/N)."

* * *

It's hard for you not to gape at the display of makeup and beauty products all laid out at your dresser, most of these labeled with _'MTT-brand cosmetics'_. You try the powder out first, its shade matching almost perfectly with the (s/t) tone of your skin. There's also lipsticks of various shades: from the deepest red to the lightest pink. You pick out the reddest of them all and choose the most daring dress available to you, today's mission one you assume required you taunt those looking to be rewarded for finding you. 

Midway into your routine session, a few knocks can be heard at your door, these you respond to with a _'come in'_ as soon as you finish zipping up your dress. The door opens and another skeleton comes across your sight, this one taller yet younger in appearance. He tips his hat and greets you, setting a meal down at the night table next to your bed before leaving. "Come out as soon as you're done," he says, voice muffled behind the door. "I believe we haven't introduced ourselves properly yet, miss!"

"I believe so," you answer, holding back a smile to avoid messing up your makeup, mascara almost smudging when you laugh at the sound of the new face's voice: booming, bright, and full of excitement, a great -- if not, incredulous -- difference from Undyne's rough nature, Alphys's frequent stutter, or Sans's reserved tendencies. Asgore you didn't know much of yet, how little you had seen him around since your rescue making him a mystery, the same applying for Gerson. "Thank you, mister."

You finish up your routine -- wearing everything but a fuller shade of lipstick, taking into account you would eat now -- only to be held back by a twist in your stomach, the glimpse you have of yourself in the mirror making you frown. While you were all for looking your best and being confident in your looks, knowing they would now be used -- more than usual -- for the sake of saving yourself from trouble you’d gotten yourself into makes you look at yourself in a new light. It was your duty now to become stronger while at the same time fake being dainty up on stage, that aside from your voice being the main resources for a crew of monsters to help you out of your stump. 

A few more knocks sound at the door, these you can begin to identify the more often you hear them. “Come on in,” you call out, swiping out a bite from the plate as quickly as you can, aware you wouldn’t eat were you to overthink the matter any further.

Sans enters the room, dressed just as sharp as his stare, hands being shoved in his pockets once he’s nearby. “Ready for the mission, miss?” he asks, taking a seat down on the chair of your dresser, avoiding your gaze when you stare back at him.

Though you can’t help it, you grow silent, the churn in your stomach returning, forcing you to stop eating and voice out your worries instead. “Wh- What if I’m caught? It’s only my first day training, and I. . . I really don’t know much to begin with, mister.”

He meets with your eyes this time, irises flickering. “Don’t worry ‘bout this one,” he says, eyeing your makeup products, a subtle and sneaky way of avoiding direct eye contact with you for longer than necessary. “We’ll be actin’ as a couple, so you’ll pretty much be with me the whole time, ‘cept when you haffta go up there and sing.” The skeleton pauses, grabbing the lipstick you used and staring at it, curiosity present in his gaze. “Coulda dressed up a ‘lil simpler today, by the way. S’long as it’s missions like these, ya don’t haffta try too hard and just act like we’re the world to each other.”

“Saying I look like I tried too hard?”

“No. Just that you look a lil’ overdressed.”

“Ain’t that the same th-“ You cut yourself short when you see him take a subtler lipstick shade, inspect it, and approach your side, a handkerchief being pulled out from his front pocket. He takes it and wipes off the coat of red, easier to clean thanks to you having chosen to eat first before wearing any more of it. Then, he offers the pink one out to you, movements tense. You wear it without a word of objection and wait, his intent to talk apparent despite how long it takes him to do it.

“I’m. . . new at this whole thing, too. Mettaton’s teachin’ me howta act, but I think you just saw how bad I am at doin' stuff like this.” He folds the handkerchief, looking reluctant to slide it back into his pocket. “We’re both rookies at somethin’, (Y/N) -- Here’s to hopin’ that makes ya feel a lil’ better for today.” His irises trail off to the shawl around your shoulders, tense posture worsening. “You should take that off, too. That dress and those heels alone should be enough for where we’re goin’ tonight.”

You comply and take the shawl off your shoulders, folding it before placing it down in bed. “Would that be enough?”

He hums in agreement, facing you. “Yeah. Think so.”

He sits on a corner of the bed, taking interest on the plate of food left close to untouched, only one bite taken from it. “You should eat before leavin’," he suggests. "Feelin’ better to do that now? Paps told me you’ve been stuck in here for a while.”

You associate that name with the taller skeleton from before, prompting you to check the time on the wall clock to see it’s been almost thirty minutes since he came in, how long you’d taken to dress up and how much you’d dwelled over your future having stolen most of your time away. “I. . . I think so,” you reply, sighing. “Thanks for listening to me, Sans, ‘cuz in all honesty, I. . . really don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Surprisingly, you hear him laugh at that, sound genuine and booming. “Been there, pal,” he says, patting your back twice -- unconsciously, given how he doesn’t tense up this time. “We’ll work through this together, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans's New Yorker accent's getting more and more blatant the more I write him into this fanfic. Next thing you know, he'll be Al Capone, lol.


	5. Chapter Four: I May Have Killed a Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced:
> 
> It All Depends on You by Ruth Etting

"Stay around for the special appearance, folks. You don't wanna miss her!"

Even with the low-lighting of your table, you can still tell when people walk past and stare at you, how often it was happening forcing you to lay your head on Sans's shoulder and hook your arms around one of his, hoping people would get the message without needing further displays. While the monster's shorter, being seated stabilizes that difference, yet that soon falls apart when you lean closer against him, laying on his chest and trying your best to act as mushy as you possibly could. 

"When's your show comin' up, doll?" Internally, you repel at that nickname with how strange it sounds coming from a stranger, though it's close to nothing in comparison to the lustful and greed-filled remarks your audience often made. With Sans, it simply sounds awkward and forced, having to replace 'miss' entirely. "Your mascara's runnin'." You pull out a mirror from your purse while he rummages through his pockets, retrieving a handkerchief from one. He doesn't give you time to use your mirror for anything and have him already in front of you, using the cloth to clean up the mess. "Now you're good." 

Hearing someone approach your table, you take the opportunity of him being so close and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and faking a kiss by placing it on his lower jaw, only letting go when you're sure the person's gone. "Thanks, sugar." You suppress a laugh at your own comment, seeing him about to do the same. Then, you bring your lips to his ear cavity, whispering, "Do we really gotta do this for every performance I make?"

Sans leans into your ear, whispering back, "'Fraid so, miss." He pulls back, humour still present in his irises. "Don't ya feel safer havin' someone around, though?"

You nod, the answer one you're entirely certain of. "I do. Was afraid I'd be in for a lotta trouble after how much of a mess I got myself into."

While you hear another pair of footsteps approaching, a gun clicking's the last thing you expect to catch after them, its barrel against the back of your head sending a violent chill across your body. The person behind it shoves you with it until you're facing the floor, Sans's presence gone from your gaze. "Hand her over nicely if you don't want her brains splattered around."

You're forced to stay looking down, though you can still tell when the monster pulls out a paper from his pocket, its crunching sounding quick and later coming to a stop. "Sorry to break it to ya, but here it don't say 'Dead or Alive'. Ya don't want her dead either, from the looks of it."

The gun clicks again and leaves your head, allowing you to look up to see it now being pointed at Sans, who holds his hands up in wait. "How much is she?"

"What?" the monster blurts out, chuckling. "She ain't for sale, pal."

"But she's good and wanted. With how much they're paying for her reward, you'd be crazy not to."

"Rather make money other ways. Sellin' my girlfriend for a few bucks ain't reasonable."

You watch the man take a step closer towards Sans, gun now aimed right at his ribcage. "So the rumours are true -- She's got a liking to your kind, then? They won't be any longer by the time I'm done with you, though."

Fearing the outcome, you don't wait any longer, instead slipping a hand under your dress in search for the dagger. It almost falls off your hold with how shaky you are, though a pair of gloves for anonimacy helps diminish it. Breathing in, you charge right at the man, slashing his cheek when he turns to defend himself, a kick being directed at your legs. You wobble and land on your back, keeping your head up to avoid it from meeting the same path. The man gives you no time to recover, already hovering over you, a hand grabbing at your neck. "Feisty, aren't you? You should leave that energy for more important stuff." The way he says those last two words fuels your anger and fire for fight. You scoff, grabbing the dagger tighter. Then, you aim another slash at his face and pierce the blade into his thigh afterwards. He yells out in pain and mutters a curse, falling to the ground as he debates whether to deal with one wound or the other first. "Goddamn, _harlot,"_ he hisses, facing the floor in exchange. 

" _Y tú, un pendejo."_ Grateful he doesn't understand you, your gaze breaks off from the man to see Sans free from danger. There's barely few people around who witnessed the incident, though you still take caution, glaring at the spectators in an attempt at seeming menacing. "What? Ain't never seen a lady fight? The reward being offered for me's not high for nothing."

You see Sans's hand swift towards the place you'd left the injured man at, seeing this one stopped mid-air into attacking you. "Be careful, doll. He's still got fight in 'im."

Murmurs begin to be exchanged between people, a few commenting over the situation while the majority appears to focus more on you and your faked partner. The music's stopped playing, and it's now that you realize the only reason nobody's called the police yet's due to everyone present holding partial guilt themselves, smuggled wines and liquor on full display at the bar, along with songs too raunchy and dealers lurking at every corner. 

Had you taken action too fast?

And if you had chosen not to, what would've happened, then?

Your companion was about to be shot!

Building worries settle down when you see the main holder of the speakeasy put out a microphone in front of you, a smile on his face. "Why would we be worried 'bout you, miss? You've been our loyal singer through and through for three years. Sure, it's a shame you're a runway now, but you're still welcome here. It's those who want you we need to take care of."

Your gaze flickers towards Sans's, seeing him nod for you to go ahead. "Thank you." You take the microphone and see a few of the better regulars smile at you, ones you tended to be repelled by showing their disapproval through frowns, grimaces, and glares.

"So she's got a partner already?" one of them comments, arms crossed. "What's the point in her makin' a big show on stage, then?"

"Having a reward for her's only reasonable. She's got too much freedom for a spic."

"And what's a monster doin' in a place like this, anyway? They should be mindin' their own business underground if they don't want any trouble!"

The owner of the establishment looks away from you to face the commentators, all three who freeze when attention's focused on them. "Be a little kinder, won't you? You're the ones who benefit off her being here in the first place." He turns back to you, a kinder look showing through. "Go up there and show 'em what you've got, miss. Shut 'em right up."

You nod, holding the microphone tighter as you search your mind for a song, choosing which to pick for tonight. A hand slips around your waist while you think, one you recognize as Sans's with how different it feels from a human hand. He stands next to you, keeping your hip pressed against his own as he faces the crowd, a stoic gaze greeting the crowd. "Go on ahead. I'll keep an eye socket out 'case someone tries somethin' funny."

"Thanks, sugar," you reply, kissing his cheekbone. "I'll come back after a song or two." You take extra effort to look as flirty as you humanly can, winking at the monster before leaving off to the stage, everyone's eyes lingering on your figure.

Up on stage, you gain a tinge of fright, though you manage to shake it off when you see Sans and the owner's gazes looking intently at you, as if to assure you over your safety. A few patrons do the same, one you recognize as the bartender held in high regards for his liquor smuggling, and the other you recognize as the waitress responsible for helping you out of trouble with boundary-lacking audiences every so often. Feeling safer, you set the microphone down on its pedestal and strike a pose, mouthing your song out to the band.

Almost immediately, they begin to play, leaving you in charge of taking the audience as yours. It starts off with a cheery piano melody, blending in with your singing.

_"Flowers depend on sunshine, and the morning dew."_ You make sure to move along to the rhythm, maintaining eye contact with your faked partner at every turn or sway of the hips. _"Each thing depends on something, and I depend on you."_

Whistles begin to be heard as your tone falls and raises, harmonic despite your movements taking additional oxygen out of you. The longer you stare at the only monster in the audience, the more memories you begin to have of him and Asgore watching you sing every Friday night, using your talent as a means of unwinding after a long week working at the library and hurrying off to get ready for the show barely two hours after. Even before all this happened, you barely saw much of your family with how busy you often were, the patrons of the speakeasy faces you saw often more than your own sister, mother or father's. You grow emotional at that, something that passes by to most of the crowd, yet captured by the bartender, the waitress, and the owner -- and even more surprisingly, Sans's, how observant he seems while watching you sing making you feel close to exposed, feeling his gaze could see right through you no matter what. 

_"I can be lonely, out in a crowd. I can be humble; I can be proud."_ You blink away tears, the gravity of the situation not dawning on you fully yet. _"It all depends on you."_ You're further stricken when you see the owner nod at Sans, who makes way off to the stage, pulling you in for a dance. You accept and hold one hand while the other takes the microphone, being held stabler by his other hand on your lower waist. _"I know I can be beggar, I can be king. I can be almost any old thing."_ You're twirled around by him, left in a position where your back is pressed against his front, both his hands holding on your waist now. You tilt your neck towards his side, smiling when you catch on. _"It all depends on you."_

You seal the deal with a kiss to his teeth, your first gone in a feigned display of affection. It's not as unpleasant as you expect it to be, however; his calm nature and the caution he takes in kissing you back helps make the experience more enjoyable despite the loss of meaning behind your first kiss. You stay in that pose when the music ends and gain claps from the entire audience, drowning out the sound of you heart, beating fast as you're forced to keep your lips pressed against Sans's teeth. Your bubblegum breath mixes with his, tainted by the liquor sample handed out to him. 

What would your family think of you, continuing to work at the very place that got you into this mess in the first place, and kissing a stranger for the sake of gaining protection from those mistakes?

The thought makes you break the kiss apart first, the breakoff allowing for the owner of the establishment to approach you, a proud look on his face.

"Nice job up there, miss," he says, grinning. "Thinking you'll get a raise soon if you throw another show like that."

All things considered, it's the only way you can manage right now and the least you can do for the people offering you those services.

"That'd be delightful, _cariño."_

Sans jabs your hip as if to make things less tense, winking at you when you stare down at him. "Thought you only used _cariño_ with me, doll -- I feel betrayed."

Your eyes grow wide at his comment, though you mask your surprise quick, not wanting to be caught. 

Had he found out the true meaning of _cariño?_


	6. Important Announcement!

Hey there!

If you're wondering what's happened to this fanfic, long story short: I've remade it!

You can find it here:

[Bona Fide Nights - New Version](https://www.quotev.com/story/12716212/Lovesick-Lovelorn-Sans-x-Reader-Mafiatale-AU-New-Version)

I'll be posting the story both here on Ao3 and on Wattpad by this upcoming Friday, so stay tuned for the final announcement!

If you'd like more information over why I decided to remake this story, please refer to either [My Old Journal](https://www.quotev.com/JuniperJoy101/journal) or [My Current One](https://www.quotev.com/lemonlimeapple/journal).

That's all for this announcement! Take care, and stay safe out there, everybody. :-)


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